Wednesday, September 14, 2011

60 Bars (You Ain't Hip Hop)

You ain’t hip hop

You ain’t a rap-star

I see these specimens up close in a glass-jar

Ya’ll can fall back now, ya’ll can back off

half of ya’ll say you grinding, really just slack off

I make love to the beat – you suckas jack off

bust on the track like I’m busting a hymen

what you say you represent, most of ya’ll lying

I’m on some Yoda-Jedi-Zen shit, stop trying

Do or not, otherwise make excuses, I’m ruthless

and I’m a bad dentist to these cavity rappers

which means that I’ma leave ya’ll toothless

the booth is a sacred place that you can’t desecrate

emulate, what you see on TV then you hesitate

when it comes to surfaces I penetrate through lyricism

got my artistry way beyond empiricism

suckas MCs huddling, in a fear-position

rappers spit clichés about how they keep it real

but the fact is they only as authentic as the feel

that’s some wackness, my word is my bond – my integrity

while kats give their word like they’re drunk off the Hennessy

and forget what they said so it’s easily revealed

that their word don’t mean shit – splattered like bugs on windshields

rapper voodoo dolls: tell me how these pins-feel

claiming true but ya’ll never been-real

doing what ya massa-chooses/Massachusetts like you grew up in Springfield

that ain’t racial-epithet, your masta is your mental-set

that you don’t even know you have, hidden in the context

best that you consider this a bomb-threat

cuz ticking in the brain’s pain stuck without a faucet

people more repressed than gays in the closet

I hit ‘em, they like “yo FUBB stop it

you exposing way too much about how to make a profit”

like Black Thought said,

“rappers spittin nails into their own coffins”

in the danger zone now it’s too late for caution

fuck rappers claiming that they be the bosses

obviously bullshit, that’s what they facade is

I see their inauthenticities like blips on the radar

I choke ‘em from afar, similar to Darth Vader

breathing hard, they got the fear of man instead of God

like they bluffing on the river just praying for that card

to show up, I can’t front, sometimes life is hard

but we always got a choice of how we gonna respond

face it with a sober mind or choose to face it with the chron

despite, what’s going on

we create, right and wrong

our fates, are not drawn

we say, what’s true law

we pray, to the Koran

or with a bible recital or psalm

speak directly to God when I compose a song

that’s just the type of shit I’m on

love it or hate it I still state it

I already made it

motherfuckers tried to shit on my grave and desecrate it

I took the environment I found myself in and elevated

high pitched on the mic you can find me in the treble

people hate, but water tends to seek its own level

I keep climbing higher and some heads left to settle

though I offer metamorphosis to all these walking corpses-es

my third eye see walking dead, sixth sense reports the shit

blessed with perspective, through raps I portion it

instead of forcing my hand like an extortionist

fuck where your Porsches is

raw? of course it is

slaughter all these false prophets

leave this rap game looking like an orphanage

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